My Name is Davy.

When I was presented to my host mom at the opening ceremony in La Fundacion I was nervous to say the least. I could feel my palms sweat and the backs of my knees get weak as if I was stuck in the middle of morning mass with an empty stomach. They called my name, and the room erupted in laughter as I walked down. "Muy alto Julia, muy alto," they all said. Julia, my host mother, walked up to me and craned her neck out to make it easy for me to kiss both of her cheeks.

We did the common greetings as we walked to a cafe to grab a "cafe con leche," exchanging names, homes, and family information. It was a terrible feeling to realize how little Spanish I could actually comprehend. Everything that jumped off her tongue seemed like one long word. She would stop for a reply, and I would stammer the first thing that came to my head, giving her information she didn´t ask for.

I found out a lot about her. She has one daughter, named Dayana, who sleeps at the house every so often. She has one son, named Maikel, who lives with his father. She is divorced and now lives in Poligono, which is a suburb of Toledo. She owns a small skin and nail care business right next to the apartment where I will be living for the next four months. She does anything from manicures to tattoos! She smokes and has three birds. Each one is a separate delight in the morning. She loves Mel Gibson in Braveheart, and she hates George Bush.

Anyways, to the story. I was not sure how evident the language barrier was until this past weekend. Since the moment I stepped foot in her apartment she started calling me "baby." She would say things like, "Let me show you how to make coffee 'baby.'" OR "'Baby, do you like chicken?" I thought this was weird at first, but I figured it to be a culture thing so I started calling her madre in return. "Thanks madre." "Yes madre, I love chicken!"

Then, she told me that Dayana and Maikel were coming to eat dinner with us at 9:30. When they showed up, I introduced myself with, "Encantado. Me nombre es Cooper." Then Julia jumped in and said, "No, No, his Spanish is not that great yet... His name is Davy." I looked at her weird, and then explained that my name was Cooper. She laughed and told me she had been calling me "Davy" since I came to the house because she thought that was my name, and I explained to her that I thought she was calling me "baby." A minor mix-up, but an important one none the less. I don´t know where she came up with the name Davy, and I don´t know how I never picked up on her pronunciation of "baby," but after telling many of my friends at La Fundacion the story I have adopted a new nickname here in Spain.

See You On the Streets,

Davy